


Wish It Was a Lullaby

by Dracoduceus



Series: Wandering Home [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Pokemon AU, Pokemon Death, Pokemon Violence, discussion of yakuza violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:00:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26380783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracoduceus/pseuds/Dracoduceus
Summary: Some people long for the past, the “good old days”. Hanzo is not beyond such wishes, but only if he could relive those early days of meeting his Jigglypuff. Back when he used to smile.
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Series: Wandering Home [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1917211
Comments: 7
Kudos: 70





	Wish It Was a Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> So please heed the warnings. This chapter will feature a lot of discussion of Pokemon violence, blood, and Pokemon death. It will also feature the kind of fights that were [very briefly discussed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22357669/chapters/53412427) in Wandering Home.

The nursery workers fluttered around like a nervous flock of Pidgeys. As they approached, they and their partners bowed deeply and remained in that position long after they left. 

Hanzo resisted the urge to reach out and hold his father’s hand. Lately _onna-oyabun_ had taken to smacking his hand with a thin bamboo rod whenever she caught him doing so in public. She said it was a sign of weakness, which was a disease. He didn’t like getting sick and he figured that weakness was as bad as a cold or a tummy ache so he didn’t want to be weak.

Still, he was nervous. This was a big day—or so everyone kept telling him—and he wanted the comfort of holding his father’s hand.

_Onna-oyabun_ walked like she glided on the air, her fine silk _haori_ and _hakama_ whispering as she walked. Beside her, Kabutops seemed out of place. They were a jittery thing, their head always twisting, twitching, the many little feelers pressed against their ribs—much like the feathery things he’d seen on Krabby that his _sensei_ said were called gills—rippling. Their pointed feet clicked eerily on the smooth tile of the nursery.

The owner of the nursery, a middle-aged man that Hanzo disliked, came out to meet them. He was balding on top of his head and the thin layer of sweat coating his skin reflected the bright lights above.

“Greetings, greetings,” he said, bowing. As he bobbed, he wrung his hands nervously.

Hanzo felt gross just looking at him—if he had bowed so poorly, _onna-oyabun_ would have slapped him with the bamboo whip. Now he could understand why, seeing how ugly it looked when someone bowed with their back bent, with their hands rubbing together, with his fine suit bunching in weird places.

“Greetings,” _onna-oyabun_ said coldly. She didn’t bow so Hanzo didn’t bow in greeting when she gestured at him and said, “This is my son, Hanzo.”

The owner bowed and bobbed again. “Greetings, young Lord Shimada,” he said.

He reminded Hanzo of the businessmen that _onna-oyabun_ often spoke with—the kind of man that would sell their own children for the Shimada Clan’s favor. As _onna-oyabun_ had warned him, no doubt he was hoping that Hanzo would choose a Pokemon from his stock for the bragging rights—and for the potential to hold power over Hanzo.

“You will grow to be a fine leader of the Shimada Clan,” the owner continued, unaware that Kabutops had turned their head toward him and was raising their scythe-hands in preparation. “But only when your mother thinks you’re ready!” he added quickly.

_Mother_ was a strange word, Hanzo thought to himself. He personally preferred _onna-oyabun_.

Hanzo said nothing as _onna-oyabun_ adjusted herself so that one of her deceptively slim hands rested on the hilt of one of her swords. That hurried the man along. He offered them tea, which _onna-oyabun_ declined, even if Hanzo had been hoping to see what kind of _wagashi_ that _this_ nursery would offer them. One of the other nurseries they had visited had given them _wagashi_ in the shape of Eevee and Charmander. They hadn’t been _good_ , the artist clearly not used to making such shapes, but they had at least been recognizable if Hanzo squinted at them.

Perhaps _onna-oyabun_ , like Hanzo, was growing tired of these long visits.

The owner tried to save face, tried to show that he was not disappointed to be able to provide such hospitality. Behind them, Hanzo’s father yawned.

“Come, then, this way,” the owner said, nearly tripping over himself in his eagerness to show them around the nursery.

The room he led them to was so full of toys that Hanzo nearly forgot himself and stopped to stare. Behind him, his father’s Arctozolt sneezed and he remembered that his place was at _onna-oyabun_ ’s side and he hurried to keep up with her.

Clearly unprepared, workers and Pokemon alike scrambled into place as they approached. Kabutops shuffled forward and moved a scrap of colorful cloth—some kind of Pokemon toy—out of _onna-oyabun_ ’s way with the sharp tip of one of one of their scythe-arms.

A Meowth nearby crouched, ready to pounce on the bright scrap of fabric but stopped when Kabutops turned their sleek head to eye it. It moved anyway, charging excitedly for the toy and Kabutops struck faster than anyone expected, even Hanzo who had grown up watching such moves. The Meowth was thrown back and struck the Persian that had been standing behind it, who got to its feet and began to growl. Beside it, a nursery worker tried to placate the Pokemon to no avail.

“We will not be taking a Meowth or a Persian,” _onna-oyabun_ said coldly. “Much less one as undisciplined like that.”

“He was just hatched yesterday,” the nursery worker beside the Persian protested.

“Youth is no excuse,” _onna-oyabun_ said, as she often said when Hanzo slipped up and did something that she disapproved of.

Wringing his hands, the owner sweated more, drops visibly beading on his balding scalp, and moved down the line. “Arcanine,” he said, gesturing at two enormous Pokemon.

Hanzo wondered if their fur was as soft as they looked but was too nervous to touch them. Not only because he would be smacked by _onna-oyabun_ and then punished later for embarrassing her in public, but also because he could see the waves of heat rolling off of their panting jaws, could feel how warm the air was the closer they got. Was their fur as hot, too?

The Pokemon in front of them was smaller, its furry little face filled with good humor. Unlike many evolutions, this one looked very similar to its evolved parents. Despite its excitement, it remained in its place though its plumed tail wagged happily.

“Our male Arcanine has won many awards in the Contest arena, and our female is a champion,” the owner said proudly.

“What sort of champion?” _onna-oyabun_ asked. “I believe that our current Champion uses a Charizard on their team. And before that…” she snapped her fingers.

Hanzo’s mind raced. “Flareon,” he said. “It was a Flareon, _onna-oyabun_.”

“So is your female an ex-Champion from years ago?” _onna-oyabun_ asked and Hanzo knew that he had done well.

One of the big Arcanines looked crestfallen. Both had been pushing out their chests proudly as their accomplishments had been listed.

“Oh,” the owner said awkwardly. “No. She’s no Champion, but she wins a lot of local leagues.”

“Hmm,” _onna-oyabun_ said. “I have little use for Arcanines,” she said. “Not from _local_ leagues.” The crestfallen Arcanine flinched at the word _local_ and hung her head. “Next.”

The little not-yet-Arcanine looked sad and its tail stopped its excited thumping. It and Hanzo both shared a longing glance before Hanzo turned away and followed _onna-oyabun_ down the line.

“Blastoise—” the owner began.

“No,” _onna-oyabun_ said shortly. “And neither Venosaur nor Charizard, either, so you can get those out of my face.”

One of the Charizards, indeed down the line, turned and snorted a plume of smoke. The nursery worker beside it immediately recalled it into its pokeball in a flash of red light.

“If this is the product you provide, then I am very disappointed,” _onna-oyabun_ said. “I expected more from you, Ito _-san_.”

The man gulped, wrung his hands, and looked around. “We have more!” he assured her. “This way, this way!”

Hanzo lost track of how many rooms they entered and how many Pokemon that _onna-oyabun_ turned down. She was not willing to consider a Dratini, as elegant as they were—the one offered was a Shiny too, which made her pause, but ultimately, she felt that it was beneath Hanzo’s dignity to end up with a final evolution like a Dragonite.

A Tauros was too brutish, an Eevee too childish. There were a handful of shiny Pokemon but _onna-oyabun_ found them all unworthy. Kabutops rubbed the flats of their scythes together and shook their head as if in disappointment.

“I have an egg!” the man blurted at last. “We all expect it to be a shiny! A Vulpix!”

_Onna-oyabun_ turned toward Kabutops as if consulting them. They trilled, clicked, and warbled; _onna-oyabun_ turned toward Hanzo’s father.

“Golden fur for a Vulpix,” he said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. It was a habit that Hanzo knew that he had gained from travel overseas for trade, and a habit that _onna-oyabun_ hated. “Silver for Ninetales—unless it’s Alolan?”

The owner shook his head emphatically. “No, no!” he said. “Bred from Kanto lines! An extensive pedigree! I can show you.”

Hanzo’s father continued to slowly rub his chin. “Even a Vulpix can be dignified,” he said to _onna-oyabun_. “And the legends always say that Ō Inari favored Vulpix and Ninetales.” He turned his head as if in deep thought and winked at Hanzo where _onna-oyabun_ could not see.

Hanzo thought that his poor father, who had no mind or mood for the business dealings that _onna-oyabun_ had, was bored out of his mind. “This may be a rare find, my _oyabun_. Perhaps we should look into it.”

Or perhaps, Hanzo reflected, his father was bored and wanted to show off. Maybe he also didn’t like this sweaty man and wanted to knock him down a few pegs. _Onna-oyabun_ and his father were a formidable force together—his father with his extensive knowledge of Pokemon, _onna-oyabun_ with her ferocity and brutality in the art of negotiation.

Though such meetings could still become very boring to Hanzo, he still enjoyed watching them together like that.

“Very well,” _onna-oyabun_ said. “We shall see this pedigree chart you have and then we may discuss our options.”

The man bowed and bowed and led them quickly to a spacious office. Hanzo wasn’t hungry for more _wagashi_ (just as well because he knew that he wouldn’t be offered any) but he was excited to see them. He could see the seam lines on them, so he knew that the very realistic shapes of the Pokemon he saw were just from molds—much less interesting.

Negotiations went as Hanzo expected. _Onna-oyabun_ asked questions about parentage, about specific notes written in the large tome that recorded the breeding process; his father asked about breeding types, move learn sets, and other things that went over his head. The owner stuttered and stammered through his explanations and Hanzo found himself growing impatient with him. If he had given such an unclear answer, he would have been whipped with _onna-oyabun_ ’s bamboo stick.

They agreed on a price that was probably much less than the owner had been hoping for, but he didn’t have the nerve to ask for more. By then it had been beaten out of him.

The part that Hanzo hated the most was when the owner had to break the news to his daughter. It seemed that the Vulpix egg had been meant for her.

But then she had shrieked, cried, and begged so shamelessly in front of important guests that Hanzo hadn’t been too sorry about it in the end. He did not think that he was more worthy of it than her, or that it was particularly _right_ for him to take an egg meant for her, but her behavior was so embarrassing that he thought that this might be a good lesson for her.

The egg was brought forward despite the girl’s protests and Hanzo’s father inspected it critically. Deeming it acceptable, the egg was taken to be packed so that it could be taken with them.

Hanzo stopped paying attention. This was the _boring_ part—the part where the owner and his parents had to exchange idle chatter. There was no excitement of negotiation, no flaws to search for in the product. Now it was a waiting game and Hanzo hated it.

As they left, the egg held in the arms of one of their guards, Hanzo could feel the hateful stare of the little girl on the back of his neck.

“Remember our deal,” _onna-oyabun_ told the owner before she climbed in the car. “You will get the rest of the money _if_ —and only if—the Vulpix is a Shiny. If you’ve cheated us…” she let the threat hang.

The man visibly swallowed. Sweat had soaked into his suit, making it sit even worse on him. “I haven’t, I haven’t,” he assured them quickly. Hanzo looked out the window as they left. The man mopped the sweat from his face with a handkerchief and slouched from his nervous posture.

The girl who was supposed to have the egg looked triumphant. Hanzo knew that they were cheated, but it wasn’t his place to say—children were to be seen, not heard.

_Onna-oyabun_ looked at him. She seemed to have the ability, more than any Psychic Pokemon, to know his thoughts. “Speak,” she commanded.

“We were cheated, _onna-oyabun_ ,” he said diffidently.

She looked at him, her face terrifyingly blank. Her eyes were grey, like a stormy day. Hanzo knew from stories and gossip he’d heard around the Castle as the staff cleaned that the family claimed that her eyes were a genetic anomaly; others claimed that it was a sign of bad blood in her line.

Hanzo’s own eyes were brown, like his father’s. He wondered if there was bad blood in him, too.

“I had thought so,” _onna-oyabun_ said at last, much to his relief. Arctozolt, sitting in her lap, sneezed. In a tenderness she only showed to her Pokemon, she handed it a tissue which it used to delicately dab at its nose. “The owner was too cowardly to cheat us, though.”

Hanzo thought of the girl’s triumphant look. At _onna-oyabun_ ’s nod, he said, “It was the girl. That was supposed to have the Vulpix.”

“I had thought so, too,” _onna-oyabun_ said. “I will send a team to pay them a visit. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

She continued to stroke the Arctozolt in her lap as if she wasn’t talking about the destruction of a person’s life. Hanzo looked out the window and tried not to fidget.

* * *

Hanzo thought that Aerodactyl and Omastar seemed relieved that they returned, but he couldn’t blame them. They were incredibly powerful Pokemon that had been reawakened from long-dormant fossils and raised to be even more powerful. That strength and ancient dignity had nothing on watching an unruly child.

“Mama!” Genji shrieked and Hanzo winced. “Papa!” His clothes were messy and covered in dirt and grass and Hanzo thought that it was a good thing that _onna-oyabun_ had not yet decided to use the bamboo rod on the little toddler. He would always be covered in red marks for being so loud, for being so messy, for being so undignified.

Hanzo just hoped that in time, Genji would learn.

“Did you bring me anything?” Genji demanded, jumping up and down in front of their father. It seemed that he had learned that _onna-oyabun_ did not interact with _children_.

Laughing, their father scooped him up. “Today was not a day for you, little Caterpie,” he said, tickling Genji’s stomach. “Today was a day for Hanzo to get his Pokemon.”

“I want a Pokemon!” Genji cried, kicking his feet.

“Not until you’re older,” _onna-oyabun_ said firmly. Genji pouted. “When you are Hanzo’s age, we can find you a Pokemon—but no sooner!”

Genji kicked and wiggled in their father’s arms. “I want one _now_.”

Whatever else was said, Hanzo didn’t hear—he was focused on their guard bringing out the box that held his egg. He wondered what was in it; he hoped that he’d get to keep it, whatever it was.

The guard knelt in front of Hanzo and opened the box. Nestled in hay was a pink egg with purple markings like swirls.

“Sojiro?” _onna-oyabun_ asked.

Hanzo’s father leaned closer. Genji was still screaming that he wanted a Pokemon too, he didn’t want to wait. It made Hanzo think of the girl he had seen at the nursery; he hoped that Genji wouldn’t grow up like her, to be so undignified. He had some time before he’d get his Pokemon, so Hanzo hoped that he’d mature by then.

Had _he_ been like this? he wondered. He didn’t like that thought.

“Hard to tell,” Hanzo’s father said. “But my best guess is that it will be a Fairy type.” _Onna-oyabun_ ’s lips twisted. “Don’t forget, my _oyabun_ , that Jigglypuff are Fairy types,” he said gently.

Her frown turned into a scowl. “A Jigglypuff?”

“Who puts the police and their Arcanines to sleep?” Hanzo’s father asked gently. “Who defuses situations with Sing? You employ a lot of Jigglypuff already—what’s another?”

_Onna-oyabun_ ’s scowl deepened. “And who will sit beside him in meetings? Who will be beside him when he makes public appearances? A _Jigglypuff?_ ” she shook her head. “I think not.”

“You do not keep one Pokemon for your team,” Hanzo’s father pointed out. He gestured to _onna-oyabun_ ’s Aerodactyl, Omastar, and Kabutops. “You have more than one. That his first Pokemon is a Jigglypuff would not be an issue.”

For a long moment, _onna-oyabun_ considered this. “Very well,” she said, clearly unhappy with the idea. She looked down at Hanzo. “Take good care of it. I expect it to never be anything less than perfect.”

Hanzo bowed deeply as she turned and walked away.

Genji continued to wail that he wanted a Pokemon. Their father released his Dracozolt, something that normally would have amused Genji, but he continued to scream that he wanted a Pokemon.

“How should I take care of it?” Hanzo asked his father.

“Keep it nice and warm,” his father told him with a smile. “And keep it with you! A Pokemon only hatches if its trainer is near.” Gently he lifted the egg out of the straw and held it out to Hanzo. “Don’t drop it, now,” he cautioned as Hanzo carefully wrapped his arms around it.

It was an awkward size, neither too large nor too small—he could wrap his arms around it and clasp his wrists, but it was too large to tuck under one arm.

“How do I take care of it?” Hanzo asked, the enormity of the situation only then sinking in. He looked up into his father’s eyes and hoped that the Pokemon inside wouldn’t hear how fast his heart was beating.

His father smiled and used his free hand to cup Hanzo’s cheek. “You can only do your best,” he said gently. “Nothing will be perfect. All you can do is try your very best. And remember: if you love your Pokemon, they will love you back.”

Hanzo looked down at the egg in his arms. “I will,” he promised fiercely. “No matter what it is, I will love it so much! I promise!”

There was something sad in his father’s eyes. “I know you will.”

* * *

Hanzo carried the egg around for two weeks. _Onna-oyabun_ wasn’t happy with him carrying it around, but his father must have talked her out of her disapproval. And he got stronger carrying it around to all of his lessons and meetings.

He had a soft pillow which he set beneath the egg when he couldn’t carry it. His _aikido sensei_ asked if he would carry around the baby like a Kangaskhan, too, but it wasn’t funny so Hanzo didn’t laugh.

Genji tried to steal the egg a few times and was led away, screaming at the top of his young lungs. It was a bitter reminder, or so _onna-oyabun_ told Hanzo as she scolded him for making a fuss over it, that there were many things that he needed to take care of himself. That there will always be people that coveted things that he had—and he couldn’t always rely on others to protect himself.

It still felt wrong when he caught Genji trying to steal the egg again and chased him off with his _shinai_. He had to apologize to his _kendo_ instructor for the interruption around a throat closed up from seeing Genji’s eyes welling up with tears. Nobody had struck him yet in his young life—Hanzo had the terrible honor of being the first.

After that, Genji stopped trying to steal the egg. He was also more distant from Hanzo, as if burdened by the memory of an improper and unprotected hit from the _shinai_.

In some ways, Hanzo had expected to be reprimanded—this had seemed like one of those no-win scenarios where he would be praised for acting quickly but also scolded and punished for striking another Shimada. Somehow it was worse that he wasn’t. His only punishment had been the tearful look that Genji had given him and the disappointed look on his father’s face later that night.

Those hurt worse than _onna-oyabun_ ’s bamboo teaching rod.

During the day, the egg was relatively inactive but at night, in the privacy of Hanzo’s room, it rocked slightly as if its inhabitant didn’t want to go to sleep. He told nobody that he looped an arm around the egg and tugged it close, hugging it to his chest until they both had fallen asleep.

The egg hatched, by great chance, during dinner. Hanzo and his father hovered over it as it rocked, as the little Pokemon inside kicked at the sides to break free, their meals forgotten. Genji knelt nearby, bouncing eagerly with his eyes on the egg; _onna-oyabun_ continued to eat austerely at the table, as if unaware of what was happening.

Hanzo didn’t spare _onna-oyabun_ any other thought when he heard the sound of cracking. Genji, who hadn’t taken his eyes off the egg, exclaimed in excitement. He turned back, holding his hands out, just as the egg split into three uneven chunks and a small pink shape rolled out.

Without thinking he caught it, touching slimy pink fur. For a moment he thought that the creature in his arms would uncurl but it didn’t—it really was just that round.

“A Jigglypuff,” Hanzo’s father announced.

Hanzo didn’t hear anything that _onna-oyabun_ may have said in response; he didn’t hear whatever Genji yelled. All of his attention was centered around the little body in his hands and the two big eyes that looked up at him.

“Hello,” Hanzo whispered, unsure of how to proceed. His own Pokemon—here at last! His own companion, his confidant. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

The Jigglypuff looked up at him and smiled.

* * *

Hanzo’s father said that Jigglypuff had a happy personality—whatever that meant. Hanzo thought that he was more naïve.

But he listened and that’s all that Hanzo could ask for. The Jigglypuff listened, his tiny face crinkling as he listened to Hanzo explain the rules, as he listened to the instructors, listened to the Pokemon that were meant to train him. He listened and he obeyed—and he always smiled at Hanzo.

It was like seeing the sun after a week of clouds and Hanzo didn’t think that he could love anyone as much as he loved Jigglypuff.

At night, Jigglypuff slept on a pillow beside Hanzo’s and when his little legs could keep up, he ran after Hanzo. Usually, Hanzo had to carry him on his hip. They went everywhere together and Jigglypuff always smiled.

* * *

_Onna-oyabun_ ’s hands were like steel. Her fingernails, which had been decorated for this particular meeting to look like scarlet talons wrapped in delicate gold filigree, dug into the tender skin of his neck and the insides of his wrists. One hand was wrapped around his throat, the other held both of his hands behind his back.

There was no wine on her breath or the acrid scent of drugs; it was worse knowing that she did this sober, held him in place and forced him to watch Jigglypuff fight a losing battle against Kabutops.

Every move that Jigglypuff used, sweat pouring down his sides, did little to faze _onna-oyabun_ ’s signature Pokemon. Hanzo couldn’t even cry out, his throat and jaw held tight in _onna-oyabun_ ’s grip.

“He can’t even Sing properly,” _onna-oyabun_ said, her voice low and hissing like an Arbok’s. Kabutops smacked Jigglypuff aside, sending him bouncing into the side of the small arena. “He is nothing.”

Hanzo couldn’t say anything—opening his mouth meant that her talons dug painfully into his skin. He didn’t _think_ that he had been cut by her talons, but he could imagine a thin drop of blood dripping down his neck. Perhaps it was just sweat; maybe it was tears.

“He will still _be_ nothing if you allow him to continue this way,” _onna-oyabun_ continued. “Or maybe he will be dead.”

Hanzo watched, horrified beyond anything he could ever remember feeling, as Kabutops slapped Jigglypuff—thankfully with the flat of their long blades—aside and pounced. He watched helplessly, his stomach cold with fear, as Kabutops pinned Jigglypuff to the ground and used one of their scythe-arms to pin one of his paws to the ground. 

“Let this be a lesson, Hanzo,” _onna-oyabun_ said. “Weakness can only be an illusion; do not let it be your reality.” 

He choked back his sobs as Jigglypuff shrieked; Kabutops pulled back the scythe-hand that pinned Jigglypuff’s paw. Then he was released and he sprinted for Jigglypuff who lay sniffling on the floor of the arena. 

Kabutops had only cut one of his paws, one finger, so he wasn’t entirely maimed. Still, Jigglypuff looked up at Hanzo, his big eyes welling up with pain and fear and he gathered his Pokemon close and held him tightly. 

“Do you understand, Hanzo?” _onna-oyabun_ asked. When he looked at her, he found her lovingly stroking Kabutops’ armored head with the kindness that she hadn’t ever shown him. “Weakness is a disease, but it can be overcome.” 

Hanzo bowed deeply to her. “I understand,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even. 

“Finish your studies,” _onna-oyabun_ told him. “I will sign you up to go against a low-tier grunt; a level 40 Farfetch’d. Do not disappoint me.” 

In his hands, Jigglypuff bowed as well though Hanzo could still feel his muffled sobs. When she and Kabutops had gone, Hanzo rushed Jigglypuff to the nearby prep rooms. With no fights happening in the afternoon, Hanzo had time to spend alone with Jigglypuff. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered breathlessly. His hands shook in a way that they hadn’t ever before as he applied a Potion to stop the bleeding and then another to fully heal the wound. Anything more and he would be in trouble for wasting medicines.

Jigglypuff looked up at him and then away. He was disappointed. Was he really that weak?

“No,” Hanzo hissed fiercely, hugging him close. His hands were still shaking; Jigglypuff hugged him back, digging his little paws into Hanzo’s shirt. Hanzo could feel the difference in his grip now that Jigglypuff was missing a finger.

He wondered how long it would haunt him.

“Come,” Hanzo said after a long moment. “We have to prepare.”

Jigglypuff clung to him a moment longer. He didn’t want to fight, just as he didn’t want Hanzo to have to watch him in the arena. He was afraid of disappointing Hanzo but at the same time knew that if they disappointed _onna-oyabun_ , their fate would be much worse.

“I know,” Hanzo whispered. Since they weren’t in a rush to get to lessons or meetings, Hanzo set Jigglypuff down to walk beside him. Together they walked austerely through the halls as if nothing in the arena had happened.

The servants of the arena, who reminded Hanzo of stories of slaves and gladiators from across the world, would clean up the mess left behind by their beating. For now, all he and Jigglypuff could do was act like a Persian and pretend that none of it had happened.

Safely back in their rooms, Hanzo let his veneer crack and lay on his _futon_. He loved Jigglypuff more than he had ever loved anyone—perhaps even more than he loved Genji and his father. The last thing he wanted to do was see Jigglypuff hurt in the arena.

He tried not to think about what would happen if he lost the battle.

Jigglypuff paced their room, his usually cheerful face troubled. Perhaps he, too, was contemplating his own fate. Perhaps he also wondered if he’d survive the night’s fight.

As if sensing Hanzo’s gaze, Jigglypuff turned and trotted over. He tucked himself against his chest and tugged Hanzo’s arms around him. “Huff,” he said and patted Hanzo’s chest.

Hanzo hugged him tightly and thought hard. _Onna-oyabun_ had given them the benefit of knowing their opponent, but fear still made his stomach turn.

A Level 40 Farfetch’d. As much as he loved Jigglypuff, he was still young, and they didn’t have the experience from a true battle—that morning with Kabutops had been the first time that any Pokemon had sought to really hurt him. At _best_ , Jigglypuff was a Level 15—hard to tell, because he had never been truly evaluated.

Level 40 versus a Level 15 was ridiculous, no matter the type. Everyone expected a slaughter; perhaps _onna-oyabun_ intended it.

“Huff,” Jigglypuff said and patted Hanzo’s chest again, reminding Hanzo that _onna-oyabun_ had told him to study. He didn’t want Hanzo’s studies to suffer while he worried about Jigglypuff—worried about something that he couldn’t change.

“We’ll figure something out,” Hanzo whispered, sitting up. He took Jigglypuff with him to his desk, where his gear waited to be cleaned and his homework waited to be done.

Muttering to himself, Jigglypuff inspected the gear. He couldn’t usually help, but he did what he could. As Hanzo opened his geometry textbook, he happened to glance to the side in time to see Jigglypuff pick up one of the knives that Hanzo wore in his boots. It was a thin thing, meant for throwing, but it gave Hanzo an idea.

Jigglypuff had always been with him, after all. He’d been present for every class, every training he attended since he had hatched. A few times, he had seen Jigglypuff trying to mimic his movements as he went through his _kata_.

He’d seen matches in the arena. He’d seen how bloody they could get. And…Farfetch’ed were always armed.

“Jigglypuff,” he said slowly. The little Pokemon turned to look at him. “How well can you use that?”

* * *

The knife he had first picked up was too unwieldy to be tucked into that strange sort of subspace that Pokemon had for their held items. They tried all manner of knives but settled on one that had been given to Hanzo as a gift when he was seven.

He knew how to use it, of course, knew just the way to flick his wrist to spin it open. Jigglypuff knew _how_ to, but had never practiced. Now he did, flicking and flicking and flicking his tiny arm as Hanzo did his homework and tried not to think about what would happen if he failed.

Hanzo tried not to let his unease show as he stepped into the arena. He recognized his opponent, a lower-tier heir from another clan. She was an accomplished breeder as well, and he suspected that her specific specialty included Farfetch’d.

They bowed to each other and then to the box where he knew that _onna-oyabun_ sat and watched. He wondered if his father and Genji were there too. Lately, Genji had taken to traveling with their father to trade Pokemon from other regions around the world. Last month he had come back with his own Pokemon, which he had caught while abroad.

Now, the thought made Hanzo’s stomach turn to ice. The creature, called Nincada, had been caught wild by Genji. Was there a hive in the background, or whatever group that Nincada lived in, watching in fear and horror as he was kidnapped? He could still remember the way that everything in him had stopped when he saw Kabuptops pin Jigglypuff.

He could still remember how his tears had burned at the thought of Jigglypuff being hurt.

Now was not the time to think about it, though. He looked down at Jigglypuff, standing properly behind and to the right of him. “Go,” he ordered into the expectant silence of the arena.

The screens declared that Jigglypuff was Level 13; the crowds hummed and murmured. He could see that bets were being made, money and tickets exchanging hands.

Across the arena from him, his opponent released her Farfetch’d, which the screens listed as Level 41. His opponent looked uncomfortable as they both waited for the signal to start.

“Go!” his opponent cried in a clear voice. “Sky attack!”

Hanzo took a deep breath as Farfetch’d braced itself for its next attack. Sky attack was incredibly powerful—so he and Jigglypuff needed to be quick, and catch it before it took to the air where they couldn’t reach. “Slash!”

There was a murmur among the crowd, a few titters: those that knew Pokemon knew that a Level 13 Jigglypuff didn’t know Slash. Jigglypuff _couldn’t_ learn Slash, so what was Hanzo talking about?

Hanzo didn’t dare look away, but his opponent did, turning to look up at the box where _onna-oyabun_ watched; the Farfetch’d blinked as well, surprised. It stumbled a bit, which is exactly what Hanzo and Jigglypuff had hoped for.

Jigglypuff used Rollout to cover the distance between them quickly. He slammed into Farfetch’d, knocking it off-balance; reaching into that peculiar pocket of subspace, he pulled out the knife.

The crowd roared in surprise upon seeing the knife, seeing Jigglypuff use one hand to flip it open. Farfetch’d gave one last cry that ended in a gurgle when the blade was brought down on its exposed throat. It flopped weakly, blood spurting in the air, as Jigglypuff rolled off of it.

Jigglypuff turned and walked back to Hanzo who nodded once to it. Relief—not victory—made him giddy as his opponent sprinted toward her Farfetch’d who had fallen still. “Cheat!” she cried, her voice lost in the roar of the crowd. “Foul!”

The scoreboard that had shown each Pokemon’s stats rippled and the crowd fell expectantly silent. VICTORY, it declared. JIGGLYPUFF, LV13.

Everyone was on their feet.

Hanzo thought about the Farfetch’d that lay dead on the sands, its blood soaking into the ground. He thought about the way the trainer cried over her Pokemon; he thought about the oily fear he had felt when Kabutops had pinned Jigglypuff down.

He thought about being the reason for that trainer’s despair—nevermind that it was her Pokemon’s death or the death of Jigglypuff. Did she love her Farfetch’d as much as he loved Jigglypuff? Was she willing to do anything for it the way that he would do anything for Jigglypuff?

Back in the safety of their own room, they clung to each other, ignoring the blood still dripping from Jigglypuff’s fur.

* * *

“Huff.”

Hanzo looked down at his bedside. “I was doing it again, wasn’t I?” He held out his hand and cupped Jigglypuff’s face.

“Huff,” Jigglypuff said. In a rare show of affection, he tipped his head into Hanzo’s palm. Time in the arenas and the “special” training that _onna-oyabun_ had put him through meant that he almost never smiled anymore—sometimes Hanzo wondered if he remembered how to.

But he smiled in other ways. It was there in his eyes when he looked up at Hanzo and, as Hanzo was beginning to see, when he looked up at McCree.

Jigglypuff put his paw—the one missing a finger—on Hanzo’s injured arm. Smiling, Hanzo scooped him up and Jigglypuff hugged as much of his chest as he could reach.

They both looked up at the soft knock at the door. McCree stood, smiling and radiant, in the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “But I have your next meal, Hanzo. I can bring yours in here too, Jigglypuff?”

The Pokemon had barely left Hanzo’s side since he had returned to the shelter. Jigglypuff nodded as McCree walked in and gently placed the tray over Hanzo’s lap.

McCree leaned in for a quick kiss and Hanzo sighed. “Do I have another taker?” McCree asked Jigglypuff who seemed to very seriously consider his request. After a quick glance at Hanzo as if to confirm that it was alright, Jigglypuff nodded. McCree picked him up and gently placed a kiss to his cheek before setting him down beside Hanzo again. “I’ll be right back with your lunch, Jigglypuff,” McCree promised with a wink at Hanzo.

As McCree walked out the door, Hanzo caught Jigglypuff’s slight smile.

It would take years and years for them both to undo those scars, and longer still for Jigglypuff to return to his happy nature—if it was even possible. Still…

Hanzo smiled, unable to help it, and began eating his lunch as Jigglypuff settled against his side. It was a start.

**Author's Note:**

> This definitely isn't the kind of story that you typically see from Pokemon and I can't tell if this is a good thing or a bad thing. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think! I do love hearing your thoughts. 
> 
> You can also find me on Twitter at [Dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus). 
> 
> ~DC


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